Chink in the Armour
by LifeIndeed
Summary: It's all fun and sparring till someone gets hurt. Everyone has a weakness - even Arthur. In-canon story, now complete!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is set between Season 2 and Season 3, just a fun side project amidst the huge one I've been working on. I'll be updating every other day. Read, follow, and give any and all feedback! Hope you enjoy :)**

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It all started with something so minuscule.

Another visiting noble, another legion of knights, another sparring match to watch from the sidelines. Arthur seemed in an almost excitable mood, though, grinning as he approached Merlin halfway through the match. They'd finally paused, for water. Hot summer sun beat down on Merlin's own dark head, and his neck was damp with sweat. He couldn't imagine fighting in the hot, itchy metal prisons the knights wore.

The prince had been doing extremely well all morning, of course; it was almost boring to watch. At least the knight he faced this round, Sir Kite-something, was about an even match with Arthur. They'd lasted for nearly an hour, back and forth scoping the other out before clashing for a few minutes, (rinse, repeat) until the knight begged a moment. Arthur graciously complied.

Now he sauntered over, helmet under one arm and sword flipping absently in the other (a very Arthur-prone action). Merlin shook his head at him as he offered the prince a ladle, who answered with a look before he swallowed all the water in one go.

"What?" Arthur said shortly, wiping his mouth and attempting a glare at his servant. It didn't quite win over his face from its previous smugness.

"What are you so cheerful about?" Merlin couldn't help but ask, amusement leaking into his voice. Arthur shrugged. "Don't tell me you actually like sweating hours on end in that thing while you fight," he tapped the armor on the prince's shoulder, taking a mental note simultaneously that the right strap needed some tightening. (The metal ringed in agreement.)

"It's called _stamina_ , Merlin," Arthur rolled his eyes as he put the ladle back in the bucket. "Which Sir Kytstulbet most certainly has, even if he's also got the charm of a goat."

"A goat," Merlin repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Why, _a goat_ , exactly?"

"Dunno. He sort of smells like one," Arthur grinned and wrinkled his nose, staying still as Merlin moved to tighten the strap. He was really in _quite_ the pleasant mood. "Have you been watching the whole match?"

"Not entirely. Pretty sure I fell asleep on my feet somewhere near the end," Merlin said flippantly, and instead of answering with his usual scowl the prince chuckled. (A very, _very_ pleasant mood then. No, scratch that—he was under another spell, Merlin probably needed to look into this.)

"Well, pay attention to this last bit," Arthur raised a gloved finger as Merlin stepped back, tugging lightly at each piece to survey his work. The prince then poked Merlin in the shoulder with the same finger, adding, "Even you might learn from it."

Merlin snorted. But still he found himself beginning to watch with the slightest bit more interest, as the grueling battle resumed. A smattering of applause scattered at the edges as the two met up in the middle of the training field, nodding to one another. They both raised their swords, returning to the poise of warriors. Arthur looked intolerably smug.

Then with the first clang of steel, the mock battle resumed.

Sir Kite-what's-his-name began his attack with refreshed vigor, immediately slashing out at the prince's middle. Arthur parried with his sword and ducked away, blocking another swipe with his shield. It kept on like that—clang, clash, parry, block. Nothing offensive on Arthur's end. In fact, he seemed weary, like the break instead of reviving him had tired him further. He was off his focus, parrying off the knight's blows and little else.

This seemed to only increase his opponent's confidence. The man swung his sword in a great strike, and then another, with almost exaggerated strength. His fellow knights cheered and looked on with excitement; most of them had been defeated brutally by Arthur previously that morning and were all eager to see their superior fall. Even in Merlin's opinion, it appeared the prince would finally be bested.

Arthur could hardly keep his attacker at bay. Despite himself, Merlin felt an anxious knot form in his stomach (and a concerned pang in his chest . . . just a little one, though). It tightened when the next blow sent Arthur stumbling back, the knight rushing forward and raising his sword above his head.

But as it came down, fast as a whip, Arthur's sword seemed to shoot up of its own accord. He parried off the blow to his left, his opponent's sword sticking fast in the dirt, and with a kick to the knight's armored shoulder (the man, crouched, could not seem to get his sword out of the ground in time) Sir Kite-something hit the ground. Arthur's sword tip pointed at his chest, and the knight held his hands up in surrender.

A stunned silence ensued, nearly everyone staring at Arthur. Eventually the Knights of Camelot burst into cheers and the others clapped begrudgingly. Merlin, realizing he'd started holding his breath, released it with a relieved smile as Arthur relaxed his sword and held out a hand for the knight to take. Instead, the man pulled himself up quickly and spit at his feet, turning his back on Arthur and sauntering off angrily without a word.

The prince seemed pretty put-off by this as he approached—not nearly so elated and friendly as Merlin took his helmet and sword from him. "Have it sharpened by the morning," Arthur ordered in a distracted tone, brow drawn as he looked across the field over his servant's shoulder. At Sir What's-His-Name, Merlin assumed.

"Right. So . . . what exactly was I supposed to have learned from that?" Merlin inquired. "Hope in the chance that I'm losing horribly—"

Arthur scoffs. "—I wouldn't call it chance, I'd call it certainty—"

"—I manage to get in a lucky swing?" Merlin ignored the clear insult, heading towards the armory. Arthur followed, the force of his gaze no longer distracted by the visiting knights and instead falling directly on Merlin.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised that's all you saw," he said patronizingly, managing to ruffle Merlin's hair a bit before Merlin could successfully bat his arm away. "If you had the _battle experience_ and _strategic mind_ it requires to be a knight, you'd notice that Sir Kytstulbet was overconfident. When it _appeared_ he was winning, he forgot any stratagem of defense and instead used all of his force in every blow."

"And how did you know that he'd do that?" Merlin asked, suddenly a little interested.

Arthur let out a short, amused breath. "I spent an hour against him, Merlin, learning of him through and through with each and every strike. If a knight can't learn the other's fighting technique, another's _weakness_ by then, he never will. "

"Hmm," Merlin raised his eyebrows as they entered the door to the armory. "Guess the man just didn't realize yours was your arrogant, annoying know-it-all-ness."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I don't _have_ any weaknesses, Merlin," he replied breezily, sitting on a bench and grabbing a towel. Merlin gave a laugh that the prince ignored, wiping the moisture off his brow.

"Sure you don't," Merlin agreed easily, grinning in a cheeky manner when the prince narrowed his eyes at him.

Arthur was still sopping up the sweat on his neck (he really needed to give up on that towel, it had to have reached its maximum sweat-capacity by now) when Sir Leon entered, bowing slightly at him. "Sire," he said with a respectful nod and a slightly amused face before walking quickly past them both with his squire. Merlin gave him a questioning look, but the knight just shook his head, smile growing a little wider as he unbuckled his belt.

Arthur seemed to notice the knight's badly-hidden expression as well. "Leon," he said in a slightly curious, slightly annoyed tone. "What's the matter?"

The knight turned back to him, face straight. "Lord Sundre's knights aren't exactly pleased, sire," he said, in a business-like tone. ". . . All things considered."

"Sore losers are they?" Arthur asked mildly, and the smile broke through Leon's composed expression again.

"Indeed, sire. Sir Kytstulbet is . . . in a _state_ , so to speak."

Judging by Sir Leon's face, Merlin would wager it was a particularly amusing state.

"Perhaps I should speak with him," Arthur rose, but Sir Leon shook his head quickly.

"He'll calm down soon enough, sire, quicker if he doesn't see you again." Leon let out a short laugh, mouth twisted in amusement. "He was—well, he was doing a number of things, my lord, ripping up grass and kicking water buckets and the like—but mostly shouting about cheating, that you'd wronged him somehow. That you had to have some kind of flaw to your fight, and he'd figure it out or die trying."

Arthur smiled. "If he wants a rematch, I'd be more than willing to beat him again."


	2. Chapter 2

Leon's word proved true. Sir Kite-still-pit-or-whatever followed Arthur and inadvertently Merlin with steely eyes for most of the remaining week. He challenged Arthur to a duel twice more, each time losing more spectacularly than the last despite his increased ferocity. Or (as Arthur so intuitively pointed out) perhaps b _ecause_ of his increased ferocity.

Most of it was pretty amusing to watch, including the hilarious way the knight couldn't stop spittle from flying out of his mouth when he grew angry. Like at the second banquet and celebration in honor of Lord Sundre, whose people supplied a fair share of the crops to Camelot, when the knight approached Arthur clearly drunk.

"You're just a pretty pile of gold, that's what you are," he said, raising a goblet to the prince. Who stood leaning against a pillar, arms crossed and unimpressed.

"Am I?" he asked shortly. Merlin, a little ways away, could tell just by the set of his shoulders the prince was holding back amusement.

"Golden. Fancy and arrogant, looks and nothing else." The comparison, however strange, seemed to make sense to the knight and he sneered proudly. "I've been going easy on you—don't want to mar that _pretty_ face." Merlin, who'd drawn nearer, hid his laugh with a snort (Arthur? _A pretty face?_ ), but the knight noticed. "Something funny, servant?"

Merlin shook his head quickly, but Arthur clapped a hand on his manservant's shoulder, grinning. "I wouldn't say Merlin is laughing at some _thing_ , Sir Kytstulbet. Perhaps even his memory is well enough to recall our last fight, when you fell flat on your arse."

"How _dare_ you—"

"Defeat you? Something that can't be helped, I'm afraid." Arthur tapped his chin. "Of course, I wouldn't have to time and time again, if you were competent enough to _realize_ _when_ you've been defeated."

Sir Quite-stew-something turned beet red, eyes beady and dark. "Just you wait. I'll figure it out. No one's unbeatable, not even you, Prince," he spat. (Literally.) Merlin wiped a bit of it off his cheek as the knight stalked away the best a drunken man can.

"You'd better watch out," Merlin raised an eyebrow at Arthur, who nodded somberly till they both burst into a fit of barely-contained laughter.

The next day Merlin was doing honestly one of his most _favorite_ jobs (mucking out a certain prattish prince's stable) when Sir Merlin-really-should-remember-his-name-by-now walked in, leading his horse by the reigns. His face, which really held no identifiable feature from any other piggish, un-noble knight, betrayed a gloomy sort of anger. The kind about ready ( _finally!_ ) to accept defeat.

Probably because Arthur had completely wiped him out within the first ten minutes of their match that morning. It was as if the prince fed off the knight's anger, easily deflecting it or redirecting his frustration as a force against him. Merlin, even if he'd never say so to Arthur, was thoroughly impressed. And, despite himself, a little sorry for Sir Quite-stew-ped.

(Hey, Quite-stupid. Fitting.)

But that tiny amount of sorry-ness had been long in coming and was quick in leaving. Sir Quite-stupid was taking off his saddle when suddenly he noticed Merlin across the stables (who realized he really should have taken some initiative and ducked out of sight) and barked out, "YOU! SERVANT. Come here!"

"Oh, sure, just a moment," Merlin called with his best smile, ducking to rake that last bit of manure in the corner and roll his eyes –

" _NOW_ , SERVANT!"

That was how Merlin ended up with double the usual chores, since Sir Quite-stupid felt no reservation in ordering him to muck, brush _and_ polish, specifically in that order. "I want to see my face in this," were his last words, shoving his saddle so hard into Merlin's middle he just about keeled over.

So Merlin set about it, grumbling through his extra work and silently cursing Sir Quite-stupid's name through the mucking of the stall and the brushing down of his horse (his magic brushing down the other side). And when that wasn't enough (as the saddle _refused_ to shine back at Merlin), versing his frustrations to an old tune as he polished: "Sally hey, olde lady have you heard of the song? Of a knight with a snoutish, burlish face, gone wrong? His breath was of _rot_ , his odor of _goat_ , known as _Sir Quite-stupid_ 'fore his name was too long –!"

"How _DARE YOU_."

Merlin's jolly voice cut off so quickly he choked on it, all the vexed anger of the past hour now boiling down quickly to surprised fear as he took in the sight before him: Sir Quite-stupid's face, so beet-red a vein visibly pulsed from his temple, his gloved hands stretched tightly into fists at his side, eyes so dark and beady they really should have belonged on some magical beast for Arthur (aka Merlin) to slay. Not on a knight.

Time for a hasty apology, then an even hastier retreat – except, well, Merlin had never been good at either of those.

"Sir Quite-stupid! I'm so – OH SHITE, _no_ erm, I mean Sir– "

"AAA _AHHHHHH_!"

It was just as well. Merlin had never actually remembered the pathetic excuse of a knight's name, so if the latter hadn't come charging, screaming, and effectively cutting off his words in that moment, Merlin would have probably ended up saying something intelligent like, "Sir Uhhh . . . "

As it was, however, he still didn't very much feel like getting the sense knocked out of him by this bear of a man (what little of it there was in him, anyways, very debatable at this point) so Merlin employed the very useful strategy of _ducking_ , escaping under one of the man's swinging arms and sprinting for the nearest exit as fast as his legs could carry him.

He'd just grazed the door handle with his fingertips when suddenly a huge weight slammed him to the ground from above. Groaning, Merlin dimly registered the man on top of him and the frightening lack of air in his lungs (also, a distinctly _goat-ly_ smell) before the weight suddenly disappeared and he could take in a large, grateful breath.

A sharp pain in his side, however – a _kick_ , Merlin realized, apparently this man was going to start _kicking_ him – made that relief short-lived. He tried getting up but was met with a large foot on his back, jabbing down on his spine. Merlin gasped as another solid kick landed against the soft of his stomach and immediately his body curled in, trying to reduce the collateral damage as the tempo only increased, Sir Quite-stupid shouting things like " _Peasant – Simpleton – Insolent little nothing –_ _!_ " with each blow, getting more creative as he went.

Magic was a no-go, unfortunately. Unless he wanted to kill this man - which was an intriguing thought at the moment, but still - there was no way to successfully oppose Sir Quite-Stupid (and Quite- _rude_ ) by magic without getting a death sentence for it.

(He really should find a spell that incurs memory loss. Now _that_ would be useful at a time like this.)

A very unattached part of Merlin's head listened with bemused interest as things progressed into " _Son of a filthy, mud-blooded whore – Scruffy, ill-dressed, disrespectful RODENT!_ " Meanwhile the rest of him was quite seriously considering the pros and cons of passing out right then and there, when all at once the blows ceased.

Well, they sounded like they _were_ still happening, so perhaps Merlin _was_ getting close to unconsciousness if he couldn't still feel them. But then an annoyingly familiar voice started shouting, shattering his dark, hazy bubble.

"You will HANG FOR THIS, you will – Leon, _let go of me_ – You will never get away with it, don't believe for one moment – !"

Merlin peeked a cautionary eyelid open and took in the skirmish: Arthur, sporting a bloody nose and being held back by three knights, yelling at Sir Quite-stupid, who had one of his fellow knights at his arm but mostly was just staring at Arthur in shock. Merlin didn't blame him (and yet he very much, wholeheartedly still did).

Because Arthur looked on the verge of beating his way through an entire Mercian army (Single-handedly, unless you counted Merlin), fists out, and eyes livid. The way Sir Quite-stupid had one hand to the side of his face told Merlin there'd been blows landed on both sides. The prince still wasn't listening to reason, it seemed; he twisted against his knights' hold, desperate for another chance at the man's face.

"Arthur?" Merlin heard himself croak out, and wondered when his voice had ever decided to sound so pathetic. But the prince's shouting ceased quite suddenly. He blinked down at his manservant in dazed shock, and Merlin had only a second to wonder at the expression on Arthur's face before staying conscious turned out to be a no go, after all.

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 **A/N: Surprise surprise, the author has whumped Merlin. What's new. Lol, hope you guys are enjoying!**


	3. Chapter 3

He really was a girl's petticoat sometimes. Merlin silently acknowledged the insult Arthur threw at him every now and then, despite the oddity of such a statement. After all, he couldn't help but _worry_ , any and every time there was likelihood of danger. But it wasn't for his own life, as the prince assumed.

It was for Arthur. (Read: Reckless idiot.)

So of course worry was on the forefront of his mind as it foggily registered what was happening around him. He wasn't in the dungeons, or Gaius's injured table, or even where he'd been knocked down by Sir Quite-stupid however long ago.

Merlin had been moved: to a huge pile of hay. He was propped against it, at least not uncomfortably, though the strong smell tickling his nose was probably what woke him. He sat up with a start, remembering how Arthur had been trying to fight the knight, and immediately flinched when the action had his whole torso _catch on fire_. Then, of course, did Merlin remember _why_ exactly Arthur had been trying to fight in the first place.

"Your servant insulted my honor, my nobility, my _dignity_. You expect me to ignore such impertinence, not seek justice for it?"

"Please, Sir Kytstulped, see sense. Merlin . . . _has_ been punished. You saw to that, clearly. If—"

"This _Merlin_ has only had a taste of what's coming. I'll have his HEAD if I can, bagged and delivered—!"

"You won't touch another hair on it!"

Three different voices, not too far away. Probably right where he'd been beaten to a pulp it sounded like, around the corner where the door he'd made the escape for was. Merlin immediately recognized the last angry tone to be Arthur's (considering how often it'd been directed at _him_ ), and the second might have been Leon or another knight. The first one about his head in a bag . . . well, context clues made that quite plain.

"Sir Knight—gold, land, ranks, I'm sure Prince Arthur would gladly compensate you for letting this lie—" the first voice implored, Leon it sounded like, before Arthur indignantly interrupted.

"—I will do no such thing! You listen here, _Sir Idiot_ , I will strip you of your rank if you so much as—"

"—Only one thing will satisfy me, I'm afraid, m'lord. Besides his head on a platter." Sir Quite-stupid's voice sounded strangely smug; as if he knew he would get what he wanted.

" _What_." Arthur's voice cut sharp as a sword-edge.

"Another duel. You and I, prince, but not only—this time the servant can join in on the action, with you."

Arthur barked a laugh, though Merlin could bet he currently found the idea as comical as Merlin did. "A _duel_. What could you _possibly_ —?"

"Because I fancy it once more, I find. You two, against me. Or shall I go ask audience with the King . . . ?"

Merlin could hear the smile in his voice, feel the smugness radiating off the horrible man even from here as Arthur slowly answered, "No. No, you shall not. You will have your duel. In one week's time—"

"Tomorrow. First light, or we have no understanding."

"Tomorrow? But Merlin—"

"Is lucky to still be alive, if I had it my way. Will you deny the challenge?"

"No," Arthur said, like the sound had been gritted out through his teeth. "I accept."

The answering footsteps and tell-tale creak of the stable doors were all that followed.

Well, perfect. Merlin couldn't help but want to laugh at how quickly things had taken a turn for the painful.

When Arthur himself came round the bend he stopped in his tracks, looking at Merlin with wide eyes. His entire expression was one of worry, gaze sweeping over his servant as if more injuries could have been inflicted when he wasn't looking.

"You're awake then," he recovered after a moment, shoulders un-tensing as he approached. Merlin quickly made to sit up—and bit back a cry, grimacing as he remembered why exactly that wasn't a good idea.

"We should get him to Gaius," Leon said, right on his prince's heels. He gave Merlin a small, kind smile.

"Not—a good idea," Merlin gritted through his teeth, feeling every single battered inch of his injuries as he lay completely still. Even the movement of his lungs breathing in and out caused a sharp, needling pain in his chest. The idea of moving all the way to the physician's chambers seemed quite laughable in this condition.

"Nonsense. You can't very well sleep here tonight," Arthur jibed, grabbing him by the armpit and attempting to haul up his manservant.

Merlin was aware enough to know the sound he made very much resembled a wounded dog; he had little more capacity to think, however, as every bruise made itself known and something, a strange, sharp _cutting_ feeling, slashed into his right side.

Arthur immediately dropped him like a hot brand, Merlin sinking mercifully back into the hay with a groan, and the prince looked dazedly shocked again. " _Gaius_ ," Leon said again, this time more urgent, and Arthur nodded dumbly.

The knight left for help, then, leaving Merlin gasping for even shallow breaths and Arthur watching him restlessly.

"I think I broke something," Merlin huffed through the pain.

"Probably," Arthur nodded, his jaw clenched. "Though it was Kytstulbet who did the breaking."

"That's his name? _Kytstulbet_?" Merlin said in disbelief, speaking between breaths. "How is anyone supposed to remember that?"

"I don't know," he replied quite sardonically, "they could start by not nicknaming him 'Sir Quite-stupid' and almost getting themselves killed."

Merlin gulped. "I'm sorry, Arthur."

" _Don't_ apologize," he warned rather fiercely, stopping his pacing to glare at Merlin. "That scum still had no right. And I'll flatten him tomorrow for it; you just need to keep out of the way."

"Gladly." Merlin nodded, wondering how on earth he'd even manage being on his feet tomorrow. (Of course, magic; except _no_ , not of course. This was a bit complicated.) "I'm sure Gaius knows of a good remedy, some pick-me-up I can take right before the match."

Arthur dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "If you've got a broken rib, which I'm sure you do, there's no 'pick-me-up' that could cover it. Honestly, have you been living the past 4 years under Gaius's roof or have I?"

"Technically we're all under the same roof," Merlin pointed out.

He crossed his arms, staring down at Merlin with a flat expression. "Better question, then: aren't injured supposed to be less annoying?"

Merlin laughed without thought, groaned at the immediate pain, and managed in wheezing breaths, "Guess . . . I'm, the exception to the rule . . . most of the time."

Arthur frowned down at him, and without explanation left the room. He came back running in little time, however, a much brighter expression on his face. "Leon and Gaius are coming, I can see them," he said, as if everything was all solved and settled now. Merlin harrumphed.

"And how am I supposed to get up? Or am I indeed sleeping in the stables tonight?" He raised an eyebrow. Gaius and Leon came back in just that moment, Gaius's face red from exertion.

"I came quick as I could, my boy," he huffed to Merlin, kneeling down next to him in the hay with his medicine bag. "Now what happened exactly?"

Arthur beat him to the punch. "Merlin made up an insulting song about Sir Kytstulbet, who heard it and proceeded to beat the shite out of him," he said matter-of-factly in that singular, prattish way of his. "When I came in he was kicking Merlin with a lot of force at his back, probably his front earlier. I'm guessing mostly rib damage and internal bruising."

Gaius's imperious eyebrow had climbed steadily higher and higher toward his receded hairline as he listened; now he faced back towards Merlin with it. "And is that so?" he asked Merlin quite sternly, looking somewhere between worried and exasperated.

"Pretty much," Merlin nodded and avoided any more eye contact, shifting uncomfortably and then wincing at the action. Gaius pulled up his shirt and examined the skin that was already darkening in reds and purples, poking at places that made him hiss.

"And so the knight has compromised Merlin's life with a duel," Arthur continued, this time in a mock cheerful voice that set Merlin's teeth on edge, "in which not only Sir Kytstulbet and I but _Merlin_ will fight at dawn tomorrow, to satisfy his desire for retribution!"

Gaius stopped mid-poke. "Merlin will _NOT_ be fighting in a duel tomorrow!" he yelled shrilly, outraged as Merlin's mock-uncle (though probably as a physician as well).

Leon's consoling voice was the one to answer. "But Gaius, you must understand, the knight would ask for Merlin's _head_ otherwise," he explained, and the old man blinked in shock. "This is what we could compromise to stop that from happening. The King . . ."

"My father doesn't need to know about this," Arthur finished for him, jaw set.

"At least Merlin can be protected," Leon continued. "Prince Arthur will be the one truly fighting Sir Kytstulped, and he will win again like he has half a dozen times before. Right, sire?"

"Nothing to worry about, Gaius," Arthur agreed, standing with his shoulders back and one hand resting lazily on his sword-hilt. "My last fight with him was pathetically short, and the next will likely be even shorter at my guess. His skills have meant little to nothing ever since I found his weakness."

"And what of _your_ weakness, sire?" Gaius asked slowly, frowning up at the prince.

The prince frowned back down at him, his eyes flickering to Merlin (remembering him ask the same question, Merlin presumed) before answering Gaius shortly.

"Nothing to worry about there either, physician. I _have_ no weakness."

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 **A/N: Thank you for your amazing response to the last chapter! Your enthusiasm is really appreciated. Hope you enjoyed the update :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Gaius ended up employing Leon and two stable hands to help lift Merlin onto a stretcher and move him to his room. Merlin was sweating profusely from the pain every jostle spiked in his side, and by the time they rolled him onto the (flat board he called a) bed he was ready to pass out again.

"I'll get something to lessen the swelling," Gaius gestured to Merlin's torso, and then sternly told him, "don't do a thing till I'm back."

Obviously he meant magic. It was a tone of voice the old man reserved specially for the subject (or maybe it was just because Merlin had been thinking about it that very second). Merlin nodded in a very long-suffering way that made Gaius roll his eyes, and lay on his back in misery, not so much from the current pain of simple breathing but from the likelihood he wouldn't be able to perform a single spell to get rid of it. Thanks to Arthur and Leon being right there to see Gaius examine the extent of his injuries.

(If only Sir Quite-stupid had beat him to an inch of his life and not been caught!...But then he'd have still wanted Merlin's head. Damn.)

"Look, I know it might not be wise - " Merlin started when Gaius reentered with a bucket and cloth.

" _Might not be wise?_ Do you hear yourself, Merlin?" Gaius huffed, dragging a stool next to the bed and handing him a cup of water to drink. "The second Arthur sees you tomorrow, smiling and happy as a harem, he'll know something's wrong."

Merlin choked on his water. "As a harem? Gaius, I don't think you -"

" _Point is_ , your injuries cannot magically disappear no matter how much you might want them to or are able to make them be," he said crossly, and lifted Merlin's shirt without warning to press the very-cold, wet cloth against his damaged skin. Merlin jumped.

"Fine fine, yes, I'm well aware," he grumbled (though the coolness of the cloth felt divine). "I don't mean to fix anything the easy route. I think you're forgetting I'm shite at healing spells anyway, Gaius. But, what I _could_ do -"

"Out of the question."

Merlin's jaw dropped. "You haven't even heard what it is!" he protested, but Gaius shook his head dismissively.

"Merlin, just because there are many things you could do does not mean there is even a single thing you _should_ do."

Merlin frowned at him. "I don't think I follow."

The old man heaved a put-upon sigh. "You want me to cover for you by saying I've concocted some miracle pain-dissolving serum that would allow you to enter the sparring match and be able to at least hold your sword," he said, as if he could read Merlin's bloody mind (which sorcerers can't, Merlin's looked for the spell to try on Arthur). "And that's all well and good, Merlin - except for one thing."

"And what's that?" Merlin asked, frustrated beyond the point of words that his mentor insisted on being such a know-it-all. (Really, with Arthur added to the mix, Merlin was surrounded by them.)

"Magical healing is different from other magic, I hope you remember. The act cannot be undone."

"Yes, yes, I know all that, but-"

"No _buts_ , Merlin. I fear if you were to cast that powerful a spell on yourself, to not feel pain, you wouldn't any longer. Permanently."

At first, Merlin stared at Gaius blankly, not getting the problem. In fact, with the way his life had been going the past two years, not feeling pain sounded like it would _answer_ a lot of his problems. At the least it would make protecting Arthur easier (plus no pain when the same gave him a cuff to the head).

Of course the (often suppressed) logical side of him knew that would be no good in the long end. He'd get impaled by a bandit whilst saving Arthur's behind and not even notice till he keeled over dead. "All right then. What do you suggest we do?"

"You will wear as much armor as you possibly can without collapsing, and stay out of Arthur's way," Gaius said without much ado, patting Merlin on the shoulder and rewetting the cloth.

"And what if I do need to use ma-AAAHHH."

Merlin yelped at the once-again cold cloth Gaius pressed on his injuries. "No more talk," Gaius told him crossly, "You'll make it worse."

And with that Merlin was forced to stay miserably in his bed for the rest of the day.

Or at least, that was what he feared until the foreboding feeling that came upon him that evening at Arthur opening the door, carrying in two swords and an armful of armor that he immediately let clatter to the floor (the lazy sod).

Staying miserable in his bed for the rest of the day suddenly didn't sound so bad.

"You're joking," he said, before Arthur could even say anything, but the prince barely blinked.

"I'm not," he answered. "You're an even bigger idiot than I feared if you think you're going to walk into a duel without any training."

Merlin glared at him in disbelief. "Arthur, I can't hardly breathe, much less move."

"Well you're going to _have_ to move tomorrow at dawn. Might as well get used to it now. Come on now, up up up! What is it you always say?" Arthur cocked his head as if in deep thought (like that had ever happened before) and picked up a helm and gauntlet from the armor littered on the floor. Merlin gave him a look he hoped communicated ' _Don't you dare,_ ' but Arthur paid him no heed before creating the worst racket on earth, clanging the gauntlet against the helm without reserve.

"LET'S HAVE YOU LAZY DAISY!" he yelled above the intolerable noise.

That was it. Merlin got his arms beneath him and managed to lift himself to a sitting position at least, though it hurt probably as bad as all of Sir Quite-stupid's beating would at once. And Arthur was grinning at him for it, the clotpole, still banging the metal together like an invalid.

"You have no respect for armour!" Merlin yelled at him above it, trying to get to his unsteady feet without feeling like his middle was being stabbed at the movement. When he finally managed that (and his entire head started ringing from the horrible sound) he grabbed at Arthur's hands half-way between the next clang, ripping the two pieces out of his grip. Arthur put his hands on his hips with a rather smug grin.

"Told you you could do it," he grinned, and Merlin scowled at him.

"No, you did not," he growled at him, and then stared despairingly at the helm in his right hand. "And do you have any idea how long it takes to undent armor? How will I even get this on my head?"

Arthur's smile faltered for a second (served him right), though he quickly shrugged in nonchalance like the over-privileged prat he was. "There are plenty of helmets to spare. Now stand still and let me put the rest of this on you."

"I shouldn't be surprised you expect me to get down to the training grounds in this condition. But in full armor? That's got to be past even your suspension of belief."

"Of course, Merlin," Arthur said, and picked up one of the swords from the floor. "Which is why we're training in here." He gestured down to the other sword near Merlin's feet, adding, "Now pick up your sword."

"You're joking."

"Merlin, do I look like I'm joking?"

Merlin stared down at the weapon, the ground never looking farther than it did now. Bending down like that, with his back in this state, might mean not getting back up (and wouldn't that be its own kind of mercy). But, of course, a small part of his brain devoted to rationality knew this was essential. If he was disarmed and couldn't grab his sword from the ground, he was little better off than if Sir Quite-stupid had gotten his head on a platter in the first place.

So Merlin reached down and took the sword from the ground. It was a careful thing, though he tried to be as quick as he could, using his knees more than his back.

It still hurt like hell.

But he came back up, which was all that Merlin had been hoping for, and he looked up to grin at Arthur in triumph. "Okay, maybe that wasn't so ba-"

The prince didn't let him finish. In one swift movement he disarmed Merlin, the grip of the sword twisting out his hand. The sword clattered back to the ground.

"What on earth was that supposed to accomplish?" he yelled at Arthur, who didn't so much as blink.

"Pick it up again," Arthur gestured to it with his own blade, otherwise not responding.

Merlin gritted his teeth, carefully doing so. He waited in anticipation for Arthur to play his trick again, but the prince merely nodded, leaning his sword against the wall before coming closer.

"Show me where your hand is on the grip," he said, nodding this time at Merlin's sword, who raised it to show him. Arthur immediately started shaking his head as he inspected, tapping Merlin's fingers gripped around it. "This is why I could disarm you so easily. See? You're holding the grip like you're shaking a man's hand. And it's much too close to the pommel; you're not going to have good balance like that. Here."

Arthur maneuvered Merlin's hand accordingly, sliding it up to rest quite close to the guard. "But won't my fingers be more likely to get sliced off?" Merlin asked dubiously, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Not if you've got your fingers in the right position. Squeeze your forefinger and your thumb together, like this, into a tight ring. That will both improve your grip and keep your thumb tucked away. And really, Merlin, you're in no position to be holding a sword one-handed. The grip is long enough for two hands. There."

Arthur stepped back, evaluating with scrutinous eyes that made Merlin nervous. "Your grip is better now, but your stance is still terrible. Worse than a squire's."

"Is that supposed to surprise me?" Merlin grumbled, though he immediately shifted into what he thought was more of a fighting position. His back was already on fire from the weight of the sword.

Arthur burst out laughing. "Now . . . oh, now, now you look like Sir Kytstulbet!"

Merlin shifted out of the stance, though he couldn't help but grin as well. Arthur eventually quieted down, still smiling. "Alright, let's just work on the middle guard. That will protect your injuries enough if the dolt ever gets close enough-which is doubtful if I have anything to do with it."

By the time the sun set Merlin had been fully dressed in armor, learned two other guards, and managed to block at least a few of Arthur's blows (though they still rung down from his arm, shaking his entire body it felt like). When Arthur tried twisting their blades against Merlin's grip it kept firm enough that he didn't lose his sword.

As the evening wore on, however, Arthur acted more and more serious. Grim, almost - as if despite all this, the odds were stacked against them. "It'll all be fine," Merlin told him when they'd finished, the prince coming back with a pitcher of water.

Arthur didn't pause to look at him. "Of course it will be, I'll make sure of it," he said briskly, pouring the pitcher into a cup he raised to his lips. His brow was still furrowed, though.

"So what was the point of all this then?" Merlin cocked an eyebrow, unaffected when Arthur lowered his cup to glare at him.

"The point was to cover all ends, of course. To make sure, to the best of my ability," he said, and filled another cup he gave to Merlin.

"To make sure what?" Merlin frowned as he took it, and Arthur let out a frustrated breath.

"That you _live_ , you idiot. What, you think I wish you dead? Honestly Merlin, sometimes your skull is so thick I'd be surprised you even _need_ a helmet!" His voice escalated in volume to the point of fury, startling Merlin into silence.

Arthur then shook his head, moving to unstrap the armor from Merlin's chest (it was very very strange, this role reversal). "Not like this won't be good to know for the future, either," he said in a much more subdued voice.

"Yeah, I actually learned something for once. Usually I'm just your fighting dummy," Merlin grinned.

Arthur's lips finally quirked into a half-smile. "Hmm. Actually, in that respect I'd say not much has changed at all."

(Cue Merlin shoving Arthur, Arthur pulling him into a head-lock with a triumphant "HA!," Merlin's laughter and consequently all the fun cut short as it turned into gasps of pain thanks to his injuries. If you follow.)

* * *

 **A/N: The lazy daisy scene didn't happen in the first two seasons, but that doesn't mean Merlin hasn't called him that before he does in canon! At least in my opinion. Thanks for your continued support everyone! There should be two more chapters after this.**

 **D. Rose: All I will say about this is what great comments and insightful thoughts. Seriously, I entirely agree, and I hope you enjoy the the conclusion of this story :) Thanks for reviewing!**


	5. Chapter 5

Too soon Gaius was gently shaking Merlin awake in the hour before dawn, dusty gray light barely illuminating the old man's worried face. "It's time, my boy," he told him solemnly. "How are you feeling?"

To be truthful Merlin felt like he'd just woken up after falling under a stampede of horses. "It might be a little hard to move," he conceded.

"Well, hopefully you'll get over it," came a voice from the door, and Merlin craned his head to see Arthur there, fully dressed in armor and carrying another set that was likely Merlin's. "We've got a duel to win."

"Not before I check the condition of his injuries, sire," Gaius warned sternly, and after poking and prodding at Merlin's back had him slowly roll to expose his chest.

It wasn't a pretty sight. Purple, blue, even black abrasions. Of course, bruises always got worse after the first day (which is what Merlin tried to console himself with) but Gaius's face seemed to grow graver by the minute. "Sire," he turned to Arthur slowly, speaking as solemn as Merlin had ever heard him. "Sire, I fear for Merlin's life. If he so much as twists the wrong way, there could be devastating consequences."

Arthur's face looked as pale as Merlin felt himself. "I'm sorry, Gaius. I don't know what else to do—"

" _Protect him_ , Arthur, with your life."

Gaius said it with such conviction Merlin couldn't find it in himself to protest. Neither could Arthur, it would seem.

"I . . . you have my word," the prince said, swallowing. After Gaius nods, accepting it, Arthur deflates. "My father doesn't know about this. If we're in luck, it will stay that way. I swear I'll defeat him just like I've always done, and this will be over soon." He turned to look at Merlin near the end, nodding, and Merlin nodded back. He trusted him (the Gods help him); after all, maybe it was time Arthur pulled some weight in the savior category of their relationship.

It required both Arthur and Leon to get him down the steps, across the mostly-empty courtyard and finally to the training grounds where the duel would take place. By then Merlin felt very doubtful he could stand upright in the amount of armor they intended to shackle him with, much less keep a sword in his hands (and when they passed a grinning Sir Quite-Stupid, Merlin was quite sure the knight thought the same).

But he'd have to get through Arthur first, right?

"Stay behind me," the very same told him sternly, as if that couldn't be assumed, and tightened the full-body breastplate enough that Merlin winced.

"Yes, Sire!" Merlin said (in a voice as jaunting as Arthur's usually was), but the prince didn't so much as smile.

"Remember all the attacks you sat on your lazy bum for, or played 'hide and seek?'" he said, not waiting for Merlin's answer. "That's not going to work this time around. He wants revenge, and not just from me. You can't go running, or drop your sword. In a duel that's the same effect as surrendering to your own death."

"Stay behind you, don't run, don't drop the sword. Anything else?" Merlin raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," Arthur replied very seriously. "Don't be an idiot."

(Well, easier said than done for them both.)

Leon, being First Knight, would supervise as judge over the duel. Apparently the rules were the same even despite adding him into the fray; Leon just called him "Prince Arthur's second" and no one batted an eye. Of course, some of Lord Sundre's knights looked a little smug at the spectacle of Arthur supporting Merlin as they walked onto the field, so they likely knew what was really going on.

At least someone did.

Sire Quite-Stupid was lazily leaning against his sword, which he'd planted on the ground. His little animal eyes gleamed at Merlin as he struggled to walk, looking horribly pleased with himself. Merlin felt like singing his little tune just out of vengeance.

"Sir Kytstulbet," Arthur nodded when they stopped, a few paces away. The knight's smile grew nasty(er), not even deigning to reply.

"Sir Knight. My Lord," Leon acknowledged them. "This duel is to settle grievances on both sides. And all will leave with their honor intact."

 _If they had any to begin with_ , Merlin couldn't help but thinking as Sir Quite-stupid swung his sword in a fashion similar to Arthur's fancy wrist swing (except, though Merlin would never admit it out loud, Arthur could actually do it well).

"The duel will end at _first_ blood," Leon continued, adding particular emphasis. But Merlin had doubts the knight even heard him. He held his broad shoulders back arrogantly, smirking at them. His beady eyes kept flickering back and forth between Merlin and Arthur; it was more than a little unnerving.

"Do you acquiesce?"

"I do."

"'Yes."

"You may engage," Leon finished. Arthur pulled his sword from its scabbard in one swift movement, stepping closer, and the duel began.

It was stressful, mostly because Arthur and Sir Quite-stupid weren't doing much actual fighting. The knight was cool, almost as calm and collected as he'd acted during their first duel, the one where he and Arthur were evenly matched. Now it was two to one, but Merlin was quite sure that only lowered Arthur's chances.

A few skirmishes, occasional clashes of their swords, but for the most part all the two were doing was circling one another (with Merlin awkwardly trying to stay behind Arthur as he moved).

The first real fight happened too quick for Merlin to anticipate. One moment, Sir Quite-stupid was circling clockwise, Arthur doing the same opposite him and Merlin trying to keep up. The next, and the knight suddenly lunged the opposite way, swinging his sword toward Merlin.

Arthur intercepted it with his. Merlin stumbled backward, landing on his arse with a jarring impact to his rib cage. Meanwhile, the two swordsmen fought almost toe to toe, the knight making lunges and swipes and swings that Arthur spent most of his energy blocking. He took a step backward, then another to avoid the knight's sweeping strike to the middle. The next swing Arthur again intercepted with his sword, and with a shove pushed Sir Quite-stupid a few feet back.

Merlin realized his hands had tensed, fists full of grass (maybe he could throw it in Quite-stupid's face as a distraction?) and heart racing. He tried getting back on his feet as Arthur took initiative and began offensively striking at the knight—with his injuries, it was slow-going.

By the time Merlin managed it the two swordsmen had paused, back to just the occasional swipe and dodge as they circled a lot closer this time. Arthur had effectively distracted Quite-stupid away from Merlin.

Or perhaps not.

The knight quickly ducked under Arthur's sword and kicked him in the shin, momentarily making the prince stumble. It wasn't enough time to really gain an advantage on Arthur, but it was enough time to turn around and reach Merlin, slam the flat of his sword right against Merlin's side.

"AHHHHH," Merlin cried out, falling to a knee and dropping his sword to clutch his pulsing side.

His injured lungs were burning while he breathed faster (out of fear more than exertion) as Sir Quite-stupid swung a hard kick towards his stomach. Merlin managed to raise his arms in time, the hard boot slamming against them and knocking him the rest of the way over.

Ouch.

He was on his back, literally without a defense, but Sir Quite-stupid just moved back to fight as Arthur came upon him, laughing loudly. Arthur for his part was red with rage, fighting ten times harder and putting much more strength into his offense. His eyes, however, betrayed a different emotion, one that Merlin had not often if ever seen on the man's face in the two years he'd watched him fight. Fear.

Suddenly Sir Quite-stupid's scheme became crystal clear. (Sir Quite- _evil_.)

Merlin got into a sitting position with an embarrassing amount of effort, intent on making sure the evil plan _failed_. Miserably. As miserably as Sir Quite-stupid's unfortunate face.

"HEY! Hey, Sir Knight. What was your name again?" Merlin asked, and both Arthur and his opponent jolted in surprise, whipping their heads to him. "Sir Kitten-butt, was it? Or Quick-pee? Maybe Quack-sire?"

The knight growled, taking a step towards Merlin—and there was Arthur's moment. Ever the tactician, he took it, an under-sweep of his sword that the knight barely saw in time to block.

"Oh, that's _right_! Sir Quite-stupid, wasn't it?" Merlin called, making sure the knight would stay distracted.

Lord Sundre's other knights began crying protests of "Foul play!" and "Disgrace, mockery of a duel—!" but Leon said above them, "There is nothing in the knight's code against verbal weaponry."

Verbal weaponry. Huh. That gave Merlin even more inspiration.

"Dull, hound-eyed lecher!" he taunted when Sir Quite-stupid had managed to get Arthur on the defensive again. The knight roared, swinging at Arthur with all his strength, and the prince deflected the blow so Sir Quite-stupid had to stagger a bit to recover. "Son of a pigeon-eating whore!"

Arthur shot him a look, but Merlin wasn't about to stop (time to give the pig a taste of his own medicine). That purple vein was bulging almost straight off of Sir Quite-stupid's forehead. Merlin started singing his made-up song again, and the knights of Camelot couldn't hide their laughter. It was going perfectly.

(Well, it _was_.)

"He won't be safe from me," the knight growled, low enough Merlin hardly understood it. "Just _try_ to keep your precious servant hidden. I'll cut him into pieces. I'll flay the skin from his bone."

Arthur ignored him at first, the two parrying and blocking and defending without pause now. But then Sir Quite-stupid tried a new tactic as their swords clashed between them, face to face. "I'll ask your father for a whipping. Or at least a few fingers. He wouldn't begrudge me that, would he?"

The problem was, Merlin had no idea if the knight was wrong or not. It seemed Arthur didn't either.

The fear had been put back into the prince's eyes, and Merlin started feeling nervous again. Especially when he saw how aggressive Arthur was starting to fight—more than just a duel of first blood. More like this was a duel to the _death_.

Merlin kept up his string of insults, but Sir Quite-stupid must have been too intent on the fight. He didn't hardly flinch, not even at "You shite-eating bag of maggots!" (Merlin was pretty proud of that one. He thought it deserved _some_ notice.) It seemed the colorful phrases actually managed to aggravate Arthur almost just as much, too, and he sent Merlin a few warning looks. Against his better judgment, Merlin stopped.

The entire training field was silent except for the sound of metal on metal, of harsh breath and shuffling feet. It seemed like there could be no end. Arthur knew Sir Quite-stupid's fighting style, his tactics, his arrogance and short temper. But Sir Quite-stupid knew Arthur's fighting style and tactics as well—and more importantly, his weakness.

Every time the knight would make so much as the slightest step towards Merlin, the prince doubled his offense. Forgot his own defense, leaving himself vulnerable to attack.

Merlin wouldn't throw out insults, but he had to do something. Something ended up being repeating the same silly tune again, over and over for as long as his lungs would allow. It was probably his fifth round when he was finally cut off: "Sally hey, olde lady have you heard of the song? Of a knight with a snoutish, burlish face, gone wrong? His breath was of rot, his odor of goat, known as SIR QUITE-STUPID 'FORE HIS NAME—"

Sir Quite-stupid managed to shove Arthur to the ground, and immediately turned to Merlin (who, being the idiot he is, just realized he never picked his sword back up) and grinned such a feral smile it was more a baring of teeth.

"First blood," he said in a taunt, drawing his sword back. Merlin stared and stared and in one second thought three things: first, he was getting beheaded by this pig? How underwhelming; second, who was going to wake Arthur's idiot self up every morning now? He pitied the poor soul; and third, MAGIC MAGIC USE YOUR DAMNED MAGIC MERLIN DO YOU WANT TO LIVE—

Luckily that thought never completed itself before Arthur came up out of nowhere, stabbing his blade in between Sir Quite-stupid's armour, straight through a lapse in the chain mail and angled at the heart.

The knight choked, staggered after Arthur quickly wrenched the blade back, and fell to his knees. He gurgled for a few seconds, probably on his own blood, before slumping onto his side. Beady eyes staring, unseeing. Merlin stared back, heart beating so loud he hardly heard Arthur's next words.

"First blood," the prince said quietly. He raised his dripping sword for all to see.

* * *

 **A/N: Next chapter will be our last! I hope you all enjoyed the fight, I know I certainly enjoyed writing it :D Let me know what you think!**

 **Guest: First of all, thank you so much for taking the time to review every chapter so far! It's great to hear people's opinions. I agree that Sir Quite-stupid isn't much of a knight, especially compared to the knights of Camelot. He's in especially a horrid mood lately, considering he's not used to losing EVER :) I hope you enjoyed the conclusion of his tirade, and thanks again for your comments!**


	6. Chapter 6

The knights of Lord Sundre quickly rushed to Sir . . . whatever his miserable name had been. It became quite clear, as they checked over his breath and tried to rouse him, that Arthur had dealt a killing blow. Not exactly against the code of first blood—but definitely not encouraged. Nor common, considering they were supposed to be using blunt blades.

With how Sir Quite-stupid had swung his sword back, ready to kill, Merlin doubted Arthur was the only one to ignore that detail.

They both watched as the body was carried away.

Merlin was shaking. He didn't realize it, not until Arthur had one arm around him and started pulling him to his feet, only for Merlin's legs to nearly crumble under him. His ribs were still bruised, his lungs were still on fire, but he survived (barely). Thanks to Arthur.

Well, there's a first (second? third?) time for everything.

He could still hardly move without hurting once they reached the inside of the training tent, but that didn't stop him from saying, "Arthur, I'm sorry—"

Arthur shut him up, this time by putting two very firm but careful arms around him. Merlin blinked, completely thrown off, before his head finally knew what was happening.

Eventually he said, "Uhh, Arthur? you do realize this is a—"

"No it isn't," Arthur said, and immediately retracted his arms, face nonchalant.

" _Yes_ , that was a—"

"No."

Gaius appeared, immediately fussing over Merlin and effectively ending the subject.

Dawn had brightened to mourning—and Uther had _a lot_ to say about Arthur killing one of Lord Sundre's best knights, duel or no.

Luckily Merlin did not have to hear it firsthand. He was confined to his chambers, and so was Arthur apparently until long after Lord Sundre left. The jovial festivities took an unpleasant turn for hostile, according to Gaius, but Uther profusely apologized on his son's behalf and cited it as a 'training accident.' Who knows what happened next. Gaius was literally Merlin's only source for information in the weeks that followed as he recovered in the natural, gradual ( _horrible)_ way of not using magic.

When he finally got back a few of his duties, three weeks later, Arthur was packing to leave.

"My father is sending another search party to look in the south, for Morgana," he explained when Merlin entered with breakfast. "He wants me leading it."

"Oh. Well, I can pack quick," Merlin shrugged, putting the food down and snitching a sausage. He waited for the verbal (or physical) reprimand, but after a moment looked up to see Arthur wasn't even watching.

"You're not packing anything," he said instead, buckling his belt. Merlin raised an eyebrow, incredulous.

"I have to pack _something_. I'm definitely not sharing a bed roll with you—do you _know_ how loud you snore?"

" _Mer_ lin." Arthur finally rounded to him, face exasperated but not amused. "You're not packing anything, because you're not going."

"I'm perfectly fine—"

"Yes, you're fine, and you're staying here. Help Gaius for a few weeks. Try not to make another knight thirsty for your blood."

"Arthur." Merlin stepped in the prince's way when he made for the door, folding his arms in front of him. "I want to go. I can handle it! I've gone on missions with you a dozen times and come back without so much as a scratch."

"Yes, Merlin, maybe you can handle it," Arthur said, neutrally at first. "But _I don't want you there_."

His expression was hard, unyielding, the face of a prince who would be obeyed. Merlin swallowed and stepped to the side, letting Arthur pass by without another word.

But his eyes. They held that same fear from weeks ago. From the duel.

Merlin didn't see Arthur until a month later. In the meantime he'd mostly been bored. Maybe missing _annoying_ the prince, or stealing his food (or just missing him . . . maybe) but mostly just having something to do besides run Gaius's errands. Even if that included mucking out the stables.

He tried to take advantage of his free time. He worked a bit on his magic, read a few books, spent time with his few friends. After visiting Gwen one evening, Merlin walked past the tavern only to freeze in his tracks.

They were singing it. The knights of Camelot, with Leon singing loudest, were all belting Merlin's rude little song for Sir Quite-stupid. Merlin wasn't sure whether to be proud or ashamed, especially when he heard the added lyrics:

"Sally hey, olde lady have you heard of the song?  
Of a knight with a burlish, snoutish face, gone wrong?  
His breath was of rot, his odor of goat,  
Known as Sir Quite-stupid 'fore his name was too long!

Sally hey, olde lady did you hear of the man?  
That challenged the noblest, bravest prince in the land?  
They dueled through day, they battled through night  
Till 'Quite-stupid' challenged his weak servant to fight!

Sally hey, olde lady did you hear of the duel?  
As the great prince's servant joined in to play fool?  
But he sang him this song and he laughed at his name,  
Till the knight called 'Quite-Stupid' died from the shame!"

The man laughed heartily, drinking down their mead. Considering the man _was_ dead, if not thanks to Merlin than at least directly in relation to him making up the song (as the new lyrics said), Merlin decidedly refused to ever join in whenever a few knights passed his way and began singing it.

He decidedly did _not_ hum the tune when it got stuck in his head afterwards. Not once.

Arthur and the rest of the party returned weary and empty-handed after four weeks (because Morgana probably didn't _want_ to be found—not that anyone but he and Gaius knew that.) He watched from the side of the court as they led their tired horses in, trying (but failing) not to feel relief at Arthur's relatively unharmed state. Autumn was giving way to winter, but Uther announced later that day that another search party was leaving in a week.

"Any leads?" Merlin asked as he helped Arthur change out of his torn, dirtied clothing.

"Nothing," Arthur shook his head. "Not a whisper of her. We're going to check along the Eastern border next."

Merlin tried not to over-excite himself as he cautiously asked, "'We'?"

Arthur glared at him. "The knights and I. Only."

" _Arthur,_ " Merlin protested.

"Why are you so eager to come? Do you _like_ sleeping on rocks and working from dawn to dusk?" Arthur asked rhetorically.

Merlin fought the urge to snort. "Sounds a lot like what I do anyway."

"You're staying here."

"But what if—"

A knock on the door interrupted them. "Enter," Arthur said, pulling a shirt on.

"Sire?" Leon entered. "You wanted to speak with me?"

"Yes, I'd like you to join me with the next party, in a week's time."

"Of course, sire."

Merlin can't help himself. "So you bring your best knight from Camelot, but not your personal servant?"

Arthur glares at him (does he still think that affects Merlin at all?) before replying, "I don't need you there."

"Yes you do. I cook, I do the laundry, I sharpen your sword—"

"You're a _distraction_!" Arthur interrupts in a shout. Leon's eyebrows raise in alarm, and Merlin stares at him uncomprehending. "You are. If we got ambushed by Morgause, or even a few bandits, you'd just be a distraction, Merlin. I'd be too busy . . . well, saving your worthless hide!"

Oh, this is typical. Merlin should not be surprised. But every time he hears Arthur complain, go on and on about fate and duty and responsibility, he wants to shout _YOU HAVE NO IDEA!_

Still, he doesn't. Not even now, when Arthur literally just described _Merlin's_ predicament whenever they're both being attacked.

"If I may, sire," Leon said slowly, glancing between him and Merlin. Arthur sighed, nodded. "I watched the entirety of the duel . . . and Merlin was a distraction."

"Exactly." Arthur gave Merlin a look.

"But it's because the knight knew to use him against you, sire," Leon continued, and the smug smile on Arthur's face wiped off. "He knew you'd protect Merlin, so he targeted him. Your 'weak spot.'"

"I am not—" Merlin protests.

"I'm not calling you weak, Merlin," Leon reassured. "I'm saying what Sir Quite-stu—uh, I mean Kytstulbet—thought. But he was wrong."

Merlin stared at the knight, once more uncomprehending, and looked over at Arthur to gage his reaction. Surprisingly, the prince's eyes were wide, open with some kind of realization.

"When he targeted you . . . well, that's how he got defeated, wasn't it?"

"So. You're saying that I—that _he._ Is my, what? _Strength_?" Arthur asked slowly, jerking a thumb in Merlin's direction.

Leon shrugged. "Maybe."

"Right. I . . . thank you, Leon," the prince said abruptly, in dismissal. His face was unreadable. Leon simply nodded and, as he turned, gave Merlin a knowing smile before shutting the door. Arthur stayed uncharacteristically quiet for all of three seconds. Then he turned and said, "I suppose you're a half-decent job at sword-sharpening."

"Why? Because _I'm_ your—?"

"Shut up Merlin."

Merlin crossed his arms across his chest, smiling wide. Arthur glared (as always, ineffectually) for a straight minute, but eventually it wavered into exasperation. Maybe even a tad of affection.

"Well. I suppose I can't stop true love."

Merlin's smile wiped clean off. "Sorry?"

"You and Morgana? Come on, _Mer_ lin, don't think I forgot those flowers you hid from me, you're just dying to be her hero—"

"I'm your 'strength,' remember? You won't be able to find her without me—"

"You're a thorn in my backside, _that's_ what you are—"

(It went on.)

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks to all for reading! This is a story that's sat in my files for a while, so it's great to have it posted. I've never done a story in-canon, I'd love to hear your thoughts.**

 **UPDATE to my readers of Recruit: I'm having serious troubles with the very beginning of Innate, so Oct 31st sadly was too optimistic. I think I need to completely rewrite at least 5,000 words . . . which should be crazy fun. So, tentative new date is Nov 5th? Maybe? Optimistically. Thanks for your patience.**

 **Guest: Thank you so much! Glad to hear it was satisfactory. I've really appreciated your comments, so thanks for that as well!**

 **Honey: Thanks for saying so! This was a different style for me, so it's great to hear you liked it :) Hope you enjoyed the ending.**

 **Song that inspired this fic: Fighting by Saints of Valory.  
** **That's me finished. Don't be afraid to favorite or comment below. Sharing is caring!**

 **Cheers!**  
 **LifeIndeed**


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